


We (221Bs)

by BrosleCub12



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221b collection, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone also has each other's backs, Gen, Hugging, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Various ficlets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-19 09:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11895009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrosleCub12/pseuds/BrosleCub12
Summary: Sherlock, John and more. 221B collection that will (hopefully) grow.





	1. When You Wake

**Author's Note:**

> This is, as much as anything, a writing challenge for myself as I've been greatly struggling in fandom, in need of both inspiration and distraction and find that 221bs are the perfect antidote for writer's block and rumination. Don't expect anything majorly romantic as I'm a bit rubbish at writing any sort of romance right now, and get along better with platonic/family relationships in my writing, but who knows what might happen? Ratings might change and I'll add any relevant tags; anything goes!
> 
> As per, I don't own Sherlock.

* * *

He’s going to die.

He’s suffocating, under the fierce cup of hands over his face, over his nose, _maintain eye contact maintain eye contact…_ Teeth, glinting down into his eyes, waiting for him to perish.

_I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want –_

‘Sherlock!’

He jolts up and into wakefulness, back into his hospital bed and it’s not Culverton Smith but John who’s standing over him, eyes wide and worried, both hands on Sherlock’s shoulders. Not suffocating. Safety.

‘It’s alright,’ John is coaxing. ‘You’re alright, you’re fine.’ A pause. ‘Nightmare?’

Sherlock nods, taking in the sight of John – worried, bags under his eyes, his smooth hair ruffled from what’s recently become his normal sideways parting; not the simple crew cut of a few years ago that he allowed to grow out naturally. He’s older – they both are – with flintier eyes and silver lines of steel. And right now, he’s shushing Sherlock, making gentle sounds as he adjusts his pillow.

‘You’re still recovering,’ he’s telling him, softly, ‘Still got a bit of withdrawal to go through, mate.’

 _Mate._ Sherlock picks up on that – accidental or otherwise – and wants to hold it to his heart, watches John sit down beside the bed. Hope.

‘You’re not going to die, Sherlock,’ John tells him, like a promise. ‘You’ll get better.’


	2. The Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade and Mycroft, post-TFP.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Building on the revelation that Sherlock and Mycroft both have OCD.

* * *

His head hurts.

There’s an ache in his temple, a burn in his forehead and he must wave aside the temptation to apply a cold cloth over his eyes and lie down for a while. His hands, he’s unimpressed to notice, are still shaking, a week after Eurus. Irritating.

‘You alright?’

Lestrade – Gregory, rather – is standing on the threshold. Mycroft finds a tight smile for him; it became sensible to grant the detective twenty-four access to his office, given that they have Sherlock and John in common. He makes for sporadic company.

‘I am… fatigued,’ he replies to Gregory’s query – which promptly gets an eye-roll out of the detective.

‘Is it kicking off again?’ Gregory sounds sympathetic as he perches on the desk in front of him, more at ease in the office than he used to be and Mycroft blinks once at the man’s _lounging over important files._ ‘Stress brings it all on, yeah? Same with my daughter,’ he admits and Mycroft looks up. ‘She’s not like you and Sherlock – no-one is – but she’s got _that._ Ruminates everywhere. We’re trying to get her counselling.’

‘I see,’ Mycroft murmurs. Gregory nods, looks away.

‘Going to get dinner,’ he says finally, standing, refocusing. ‘Want a walk?’

‘No, thankyou.’

‘Right, fine.’ Gregory smiles, a faint thing. ‘But I’m bringing you back a burger.’


	3. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tender moment between Sherlock and John.

‘I just… _really_ want to hold you,’ John tells him. ‘Just for a minute. Can I. Can I hold you?’

It’s polite, honest, _vulnerable_ – as vulnerable as he’s ever allowed himself to be about anything and Sherlock blinks, parses that; then carefully holds his arms open.

John chuffs, smiles and steps right into them, lets his hands slip up behind Sherlock’s back and just _rests_ against his chest, feels Sherlock enveloping him, the two of them falling into a quietness that’s simply them, with John holding onto the one of the two people he loves most in the world.

 _It’s still two,_ he thinks, garnering a strange sort of comfort from that thought and his arms tighten around Sherlock’s back, mindful of the wounds still healing under the surface. He wonders how much more Sherlock should probably tell him – how much John still hasn’t asked. How much he’s been through, while they’ve been apart. 

They have time, he decides. It’s a week since he moved back in, a week since Sherlock forgave him – maybe he forgave him already, John’s ashamed to consider it – and a week since he was held like this on another day, with far more heaviness and many more tears.

‘Alright?’ Sherlock checks and John nods. Things to pack; arrange; fix.

But for now, they can just _breathe._


	4. Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's confessional.

‘He did some pretty terrific stuff,’ John tells her, one afternoon while he’s changing her nappy. ‘And – he did some rather bad stuff. But…’ He tails off a little as he straps up Rosie’s new diaper – new for all of one hour, he suspects, before they find themselves back here again. Wraps up the nappy bag, disposes of it _(eurgh)_ and picks his daughter up.

‘So did I,’ he explains, meeting her eyes as he says it, bobbing her up and down. She takes him in, slightly snuffled, her eyes as clear and bright as Mary’s. Or maybe Sherlock’s. ‘I did – some not good-stuff, Rosie and I, well. Let’s just say there’s a _lot_ of making up to do.’

He carries her back through to the lounge, watches her eyes fall on his chair – _their_ chair now, it seems – with a slight chuckle, following the length of feet propped against it across to the other one, where Sherlock dozes, covered by a blanket. The sun slips in and casts a golden glow over his face, far more peaceful, far less battered, than it was before. Not quite healed, but getting there.

‘I’m going to sort it out now,’ John promises Rosie. ‘I’ll make sure he gets better.’

‘Deh!’ she announces importantly and he smiles.

‘Right. _We’ll_ make sure he gets better.’


	5. Heal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugging. (Also, Cub has a thing for guys hugging other guys from behind while they stare into mirrors).

John slips his arms around Sherlock from behind while the man is inspecting himself in the mirror, taking in the single bruise marring his face from their last case, a meathead with anger issues and a couple of dead bodies to his name. John hadn’t liked it, one little bit and had had no problem being the one to shoot the man in the hand in return for his decision to use Sherlock as a punching-bag.

His hands clasp around Sherlock’s front as he props his chin on Sherlock’s shoulder, smiles briefly at him in the mirror, the _reassurance_ of him against Sherlock’s back. Sherlock gives a twitching smile back, not taking his eyes off their reflections.

‘Alright?’ John asks softly, raising his eyebrows; at Sherlock’s nod, he adds, ‘Can I get anything for you?’

‘I’m fine,’ Sherlock murmurs softly, because he is; he _always_ is like this. John’s touch these days is only ever careful, clinical – extremely gentle. A shell that refuses to break and shelters him steadfast.

‘It’ll heal,’ John promises, rubbing his arm with his thumb. ‘Just give it a few days.’

‘I will.’ Sherlock turns his head to gaze at the man at his shoulder, even as John mutters something about being the Captain’s parrot that makes him laugh, soothed by the lazy warmth between their bodies.


End file.
